


The Little Moments

by WholockHobbit88



Series: Little Sherlock and John [19]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adult baby, Age Play, Caregiving, Daddy!John, Diapers, Family Feels, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Infantilism, Little Space, Oral Fixation, established age play relationships, little!sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2018-12-14 14:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11785170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WholockHobbit88/pseuds/WholockHobbit88
Summary: Snapshots of Sherlock's little space life with his caregivers John, Mycroft and Mrs.Hudson





	1. Singing in the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> This accompines my little sherlock and john series but it can be read independently. I will update as I get new ideas that dont fit into any of my current bigger stories. Hope you enjoy :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When John has the flu, Mycroft steps in to babysit little Sherlock and have they have a great time on a cold, rainy day

"Daaaaaddddyy! I'm bored! Can't I go outside!" Sherlock wailed in his smallest, whiniest voice. Despite the ear piercing wail of it, John had to smile. He had to admit that he was surprised Sherlock had lasted this long without whining. He'd planted himself at the big window in the sitting room, nappied bottom stuck up in the air, elbows on the window ceil, hands holding his head as he starred forlornly out the window. Sherlock looked so cute that that alone would have made it funny; the fact that it was pouring buckets of rain only made it more hilarious.

"You can't go outside; it's cold and it's rainy" John insisted from his place planted on the couch. "And I definitely can't go out" John's dialogue was broken off by a wave of coughing, making his chest ache as he fell back against the couch.

John had the flu and he felt like death warmed over. His fever raged, his coughs hurt his whole body, he ached, he felt like throwing up and he wanted to sleep twenty four hours a day. He'd been like this for the past three days and though Sherlock had taken very good care of him thus far John knew that he just wanted to be little and it was hard for him to be the caretaker. Sherlock wanted someone to play with him and John just couldn't muster the strength to color much less go outside and play in the rain. The desire was there but the energy…..well, all of his energy was being used on coughing and breathing. Moving of any kind was too much.

Sherlock turned away from the window, his face drawn in a pout. To his credit, John could tell that Sherlock really tried to hold it in but he just couldn't manage. "But I want to PLAY" Sherlock whined dramatically, walking across the room and falling theatrically beside the couch where John lay, his head on the cushion by John's head.

John felt horrible but he couldn't resist the urge to lift a weak hand up to Sherlock's curly head and run his fingers lazily through it. "I know you want to play with someone but you'll just have to play by yourself today. I'm sure that you can find something quiet to do while Daddy takes a nap" John said, his eyes already fluttering, his body ready to give in to the second nap of the day before it was even lunch time.

Sherlock looked despondent but smiled weakly at John. "I'll be a good boy, Daddy…..I'll try to be quiet" Sherlock said in a tired, little voice which meant he probably wouldn't be quiet at all but he would try and that was something. It was unlikely John would be conscious enough to notice anyway.

Sherlock slouched away, throwing himself on the floor, scribbling at a coloring book with a thick crayon quietly, if a bit angrily, his adorable bum in the air, his tongue between his teeth as he worked. John was almost asleep, listening to the hum of rain on the roof and relishing the warmth of the blankets around him when he heard a knock on the door.

Sherlock's head snapped up at once, his eyes alert for all of a second before he was smiling broadly. "Myc!" he said, jumping up and running for the door. It hardly mattered that he hadn't answered the door yet; he knew who was behind it.

Through one barely cracked eye, John watched Sherlock run to the door, his face alight with excitement and felt himself relax. Good…..maybe Mycroft could entertain Sherlock while he slept. Perhaps he could even take him somewhere and he could sleep in peace…the idea delighted his sickened self more than it should have.

Sherlock yanked the door to reveal an as usually impeccably dressed but obviously rain splattered Mycroft. "Myc!" Sherlock enthused, "Did you come to visit me? Can you stay and play?"

Sherlock was fidgety and full of energy, wrenching his hands together to contain himself, his face bright with excitement. It was obvious that he was trying to resist grabbing Mycroft and pulling him into the flat or hugging him, probably both; Sherlock's little relationship with Mycroft was relativity new still and so he was still more reserved around him than he was with John or Mrs. Hudson.

"I did come to visit you" Mycroft said, sitting his wet umbrella by the door, his voice taking that automatic slid into a quieter, calmer tone that happened when talking to little Sherlock. He glanced knowingly at John. "I knew your Daddy was sick and I imagine he'd like some peace and quiet. I thought perhaps you'd like to go with me to McDonalds for lunch and then to the cinema; your choice of film."

John smiled; even barely looking he could see the look of pure excitement on Sherlock's face. Mycroft spoiled little Sherlock immensely.

"Yes! YES!" Sherlock said, screeching into tones only dogs could hear, jumping up and down in excitement. He seemed to remember himself a moment later for he turned toward John and said, "Daddy, can I go? Will you be okay without me?"

John knew how much it had to be killing Sherlock to even ask that it was really heartwarming. "Of course you can go" John said in a raspy voice, "You know Mrs. Hudson will hover over me and make sure I'm fine"

Sherlock was obviously relieved. "Thanks Daddy!" he said, rushing forward and giving John a hug that started off too tight and then immediately relaxed, remembering John's current state of fragility. "Have a good nap while me and Myc are gone"

After Daddy told me that we could go, I rushed as soon as I could to my bedroom where Myc helped me get dressed. My heart was racing like a train from excitement and I could hardly wait to be doing something. Daddy has been sick for a long, long time and I've been trying to take good care of him since he takes the best care of me. But I still really, really wanted to play and be little.

Myc dressed my mostly like an adult in jeans and a t-shirt though my t-shirt did have Batman on it. Since we were going to McDonalds and cinema I couldn't wear my littlest or girly things; those were just for at home playdates. But my mostly grown up clothes were okay too; Myc still put the shirt over my head and helped me into my wellingtons because of all of the rain. When we stepped onto the street, looking for all of the world like two normal, grown-ups, we both shared a little laugh because I was still wearing a nappy under my clothes. Me and Daddy have gotten quite used to this revelation but it's still new to Myc; when he glanced at me and his lips twisted into a tiny smile like he was trying to hold back, we both knew what it was for even if we didn't say it.

It was still pouring the rain and so Myc pulled out his umbrella for us to shelter under. It was hard to fit both of us under there but it was okay; it gave me an excuse to stay closer to Myc. No one was around on the flooded street so I didn't make myself not put an arm around Myc, pretending it was just to stay under the umbrella. Myc smiled down at me and I felt very, very small; he knew why I did it.

"So I bet you've been taking very good care of Daddy while he has been sick" Myc asked me, looking at me with a proud look. I was very happy I could tell him I had.

"Yes…..yes" I told him, "I get him water and blankets and I make sure he takes his medicine. He mostly sleeps"

"That sounds very helpful" Myc said proudly and I felt like a sunshine was inside of me when he said it. "Have you been quiet while he sleeps? Have you been a good boy?"

I nod as fast as I can so he knows I really, really have been a good boy. I don't know why but I feel I must try very hard to make Myc proud and I want him to know I'm a good boy. I don't 'push his buttons' as Daddy would say, like I do Daddy. I know Myc loves me but I know he cares very much for rules too.

Myc puts an arm around me like I have around him, giving me a half hug and I hum in my chest like a happy bee. "That's my good little brother, "he said happily. I am a good little brother, I hope.

As we walk down the street we pass the park and I suddenly stop. The park is deserted in the terrible weather but it's full of perfect mud puddles everywhere and I can't resist the pull of it. "Puddles, Myc! Puddles!" I tell him as I break free from him and take off toward the park. I know I shouldn't, especially since he said I was good like two seconds ago but I do anyway; puddles are impossible to resist! I wanted to play outside all day!

I find the first puddle, run at it, feel myself float in the air for a moment and then come crashing down into the water. It splashes everywhere; my shoes, my coat, even my face…I'm still jumping up and down when Myc walks up to the puddle. I'm afraid he'll be mad I ran off and I freeze for a second.

Myc's face is neutral for about a second before he gives me a hug, happy smile. And then he surprises me the most by tossing aside his umbrella and taking a great big leap into the puddle, spraying us both as we start to laugh. A few people walk by and give us strange looks but we don't care. Our clothes are completely ruined but we don't care; we just keep laughing even though it's cold and wet and nasty muddy…..

And have I mentioned that I kind of love him a lot? Because I totally do…


	2. Alone in a First Class Carriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sherlock and John go on a lone train ride to a case in the countryside, John is feeling very neglected and desirous of Sherlock's attenton, even if he is asking for it in the most unloving of ways. Sherlock, of course, knows exactly how John feels and what he needs.

John stared forlornly out the train window, watching endless miles of gray sky and English countryside. It had been peaceful for about twenty minuets but three hours later, John was undeniably bored. He and Sherlock were on a case that was to take them deep into the country and though he was accustomed to traveling long distances for his work with Sherlock, this time his heart wasn't in it. He and Sherlock had been on and off cases almost continually with almost no break at all for six weeks. He and Sherlock hadn't had much time to themselves, either in adult intimacy or in little space since before then and John was more than a little cranky about it. He'd put on a nappy before they boarded the train but even that seemed to make him feel angrier rather than make him calm like it normally did. Now he was sitting in an overly wet nappy and wishing for all of the world that Sherlock would change it but knowing that wasn't going to happen for some time. Out of spite he crossed his arms and remained in his uncomfortable nappy, refusing to change it so he'd have something else to complain about.

"Are you going to stare at me the entire trip?" Sherlock asked, snapping John out of his musings. Sherlock was staring diligently at a book (John wasn't convinced he was actually reading it) and didn't look up as he spoke.

"I'm not staring at you; don't flatter yourself" John said, malice dripping from every word, only serving to confirm Sherlock suspicions.

John was staring out the window on principal when he saw Sherlock throw his book aside out of his peripheral. "Alright….that's it. Take your trousers off" Sherlock said in a bit of a rough tone.

John's head snapped instantly back toward Sherlock. The words inspired many feelings in John and he wasn't sure whether to be angry, relieved, aroused or annoyed. "What?" he said, positively barking at Sherlock. He felt a rush of blood south at the words but still felt burning rage; it was an odd sensation.

Sherlock sighed heavily, as if he couldn't believe John to be that dim. "You are obviously very out of sorts from being neglected, in all sense of the word" Sherlock explained clinically. "Since I can't satisfy your obvious need for coitus now, even though I would actually like to despite your shitty attitude, I'll satisfy your need to have a dry nappy. So…off with your trousers"

John felt his face flush red despite his desire to remain aloof. It was exactly what he wanted; he'd just been thinking of it and no doubt Sherlock knew it. But…..he could count on one hand the number of times that Sherlock had changed his nappy in public and the idea of repeat sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine.

"Who said I even had a nappy on?" John sassed back. Though he really wanted Sherlock to change him, he couldn't resist the urge to argue with him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes before scowling at John. "Do you honestly think I don't know you're wearing a nappy?" he said, raising an eyebrow speculatively. "Aside from the fact I can hear it rustling under your jeans, I know you've been wearing more or less 24/7 for nearly six years and don't have the bladder capacity anymore to sit through a whole train ride without visiting the restroom."

"There's no way you can possibly hear my nappy" John argued snappishly, though he had a hard time not laughing. Sherlock could be such a prick…

Sherlock glared at John for several moments and John even wondered if he'd admit defeat; after a moment through, he stood up and walked toward John. "Alright, that's it. I've had enough of you, sassy boy" he said.

To John's immense surprise, Sherlock pulled a dummy from his jacket pocket and stuffed it into John's mouth. John was so stunned that for a moment he sucked on the foreign object despite the fact that he didn't often give into such things.

After a moment though, John spit it out and looked at Sherlock curiously. "You had a dummy in your pocket?" he asked.

Sherlock retrieved the dummy off the floor and stuffed it into John's mouth; without cleaning it off, of course. "I may not act little on a case" Sherlock said seriously, "but I always have a dummy on me. You spit that out again, you'll be in big trouble. Now, take off your trousers and lay on the floor"

John bit on the dummy rather than sucked, a tremor of pleasure running through him. Part of him wanted to spit it out again so badly; what would Sherlock do? But more than his desire to find this out was his desire to have his nappy changed by Sherlock rather than himself; it had been far too long.

"But someone will see" John protested, speaking around the dummy rather than spit it out and incur Sherlock's wrath. He pointed to the window separating the compartment from the rest of the train.

Sherlock walked over to the window and yanked the blind down so they had privacy. "There…..now you have no excuse. Trousers off; I know you're uncomfortably wet. Just like a little toddler to try and hide the fact his nappy is wet"

John blushed crimson, glancing at the shaded window, out of apprehension and trying to avoid Sherlock's gaze. It was very rare that he felt this way; chastised, dominated…little. He hadn't always welcomed that feeling of loss of control but he did in some ways now…especially after no little or affectionate time lately John welcomed the feeling that he was a little boy, only there to obey someone stronger than he was. The idea of giving up control and having no cares, placing all cares into someone else's hands was immensely appealing to John at the moment. Though command and control were almost always a comfort him to, this was one of the rare instances that they weren't.

"Now, John" Sherlock said in a delightfully admonishing voice as if he were speaking to a two year old, "Do I really need to spank you or something to make you listen?"

John froze before feeling himself swallow heavily; yes…..god, yes…..he DID need to be spanked. John struggled for a moment to grasp all of the warring emotions he was suddenly feeling. Only moments ago he had been utterly bored and filled with only anger and neglect. Now…..he wasn't sure what to feel. Sherlock and he never mixed littleness on a case so this was quite a surprise. The naughtiness and forbidden nature of this little scene in so public a place made John feel very adult in some ways; he was very aware of his nappy area. But in other ways he felt very small; scared and unsure of Sherlock's anger. His relationship to nappies and the like had never been as black and white as it was for Sherlock; the big and small mix was thoroughly delighting him.

"Ah, I see your listening ears aren't open today" Sherlock said simply, resignedly. John felt a tremble of anticipation because he knew what he was resigned to do.

John could hear the hum of other people's conversations and noise from people tinkering on their mobiles so close he imagined them to be right outside the door as Sherlock walked over to him and began to undo his belt. Feeling tarnished delight but also a surge of that childish fear, John said, "I'll-I'll do it." His mind warred with whether or not he really wanted that spanking after all.

Sherlock gave him an admonishing, disappointed look and John felt thoroughly chastised. "It's too late for that. You ignored me long enough and now I'm going to do" he said simply like a calm but resolute father.

Sherlock wrenched John's jeans down, exposing his overly fully nappy and bare legs to the cool air. John felt a wave of embarrassment come over him at his precarious exposure but he didn't have long to revel in it. A moment later Sherlock's hand smacked him roughly on the backside of his leg just under his nappy several times until it felt hot and stung immensely.

"Now, like I said before, lay down" Sherlock ordered John. Feeling mostly little now, John obeyed instantly.

Lying down on the floor of the compartment, his backside burning, John felt a rush of tears in his eyes. It hadn't really hurt bad enough to warrant that reaction; he was quite used to pain actually, and certainly to a worse degree than that. And he had wanted it so he put the sudden rush down to…..fear? What would he be fearful for? It felt very little and small, this sensation; like the child that cries more because something scared them than that they actually got hurt. He was thankful there weren't enough tears to spill out but as he looked up and Sherlock blurrily he knew he'd notice anyway.

Sucking on the dummy and trying to derive comfort from it, John watched Sherlock. He was retrieving John's suitcase and going to exactly where he knew he kept his nappies and supplies. Having grabbed a nappy and wipes, Sherlock knelt down on the floor in front of John. Feeling hurt, John closed his eyes and felt the little bit of moisture gather in the corner of his eye. He just wanted attention; that was all. And he was getting it so why was he still feeling so injured?

John was surprised a moment later when he felt a long, cool finger touch his eyelid and wipe the single tear away. Opening his eyes he saw Sherlock lean down a moment before his lips connected gently with his nose, his cheeks, his lips…..they were whispers of kisses but he lapped them up like a dying man finding sustenance. Yes, he wanted attention; more than thought he wanted to be close to Sherlock. It felt like it had been so very long.

"I am sorry I had to do that but you wouldn't listen" Sherlock said in the most tender voice, stroking John's stubble covered cheek; he hadn't had time to shave today. "I just wanted to take care of you"

John leaned into the touch and felt a balm come over him. When Sherlock kissed his lips and neck gently, he knew he'd be okay. Everything felt right again.

John lay back contently, sucking on Sherlock's dummy while he watched Sherlock get ready for the nappy change.

Sherlock picked up the nappy and baby wipes and though John was aware of the hum of conversation around him in the train, he felt contented. There was still that small little bit of anxiety, the worry of getting caught in the back of his mind but mostly he was just happy. John didn't get attention like this very often; he usually did didn't want it in favor of giving Sherlock attention instead. But right now it was perfect.

"Alright, let's get you out of that wet nappy; I'm sure it can't possibly be comfortable "Sherlock said in a singsong voice, half way between caretaker and his usual self, giving the front of John's nappy a squeeze. "I suppose you were trying to get someone's attention" Sherlock said with a knowing look. Though John had just not changed himself out of anger more than anything, he supposed really knowing Sherlock's deductive abilities it was a subtly cry for help.

John just nodded, not speaking because of the dummy, and for once not feeling ridiculous about it. John glanced from the window, watching the fast moving scenery outside speed by the glass, back to Sherlock as he felt him undo the tapes on his nappy so he could remove it. There was the familiar rush of cool air on wet skin and John inhaled sharply around the silicone of the dummy at the sensation; mostly he was in nappies purely for using them but really there was nothing like having it changed for him every once in a while. Even a strong, army man could sometimes enjoy having his nappy changed.

Sherlock took his time with this nappy change; he knew they both needed him to. He rubbed John's stomach, ran his hands across his legs as he worked; subtle touches that he normally wouldn't have made but ones that helped stave off the ache of how much they hadn't touched lately. John could feel every touch of Sherlock's fingers, the warmth of his skin even under the coolness of the wipe as he cleaned him up. John lay back contently the whole time, not speaking but keeping his eyes on Sherlock the whole time.

When Sherlock finished with John's nappy, he helped pull John to his feet and pulled his jeans back up into place. "Now, there's a clean and hopefully happy little boy" Sherlock said in an unusually warm voice before pulling John into a hug.

It was so simple, something that they had done so many times before but it was almost like it was the first time as John put his arms around Sherlock in turn and rested his head against Sherlock's shoulder. They often went long periods without a lot of physical touch because of cases and though those periods of lack of touch usually ended in much more passionate and explicit shows of affection, this was just perfect. He could feel Sherlock's heart beating, feel the warmth of his body, and the mingled scent of tobacco and the mint he used to try to cover it up.

When they finally pulled back, the train was finally coming to a stop at their destination and they were both smiling.

"Yes" John said, almost feeling like his heart was bursting with relief, "this boy is definitely happy"


	3. Baby Smells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking care of Sherlock as a little can come with plenty of bad smells but there's also plenty of gentle, infantile ones that make caregiver John's heart pitter patter. He can remember one of the first times he realized it did just that.

Living with Sherlock could be a smelly affair; John had learned that almost as soon as he had become his flat mate. The overpowering stench of formaldehyde and other chemicals when Sherlock was working on experiments, half decomposed body parts in the fridge, splatters of blood on the kitchen counter, bits of food and other rubbish that Sherlock left in his room for weeks until John discovered it by its stench alone…..all this and more was not uncommon. Then there was Sherlock himself…..while he was normally a clean and tidy person, when his morose moods came on, he let all personal grooming go out the window. He could lay in bed or on the couch for days on end, doing nothing but smoking endless cigarettes to pollute the air, not bathing, not shaving and not brushing his teeth until when he did finally get up and walk by John he smelled and looked exactly like Pigpen, a walking cloud of dirty and stench.

When his little side became known to John, it opened up a whole new array of smells to their flat. Some of these weren't pleasant; especially when they forgot to throw out the nappies promptly. But most of them were very pleasant; playdough, crayons, baby powder, sweet lotions…when Sherlock was little he left behind a pleasantly honeyed infantile scent on everything around him.

John could still remember vividly the first time that he really took in Sherlock's babyish smell. It was years ago at the beginning of their baby days and John still looked back on it fondly. Having only been acting as Sherlock's daddy for a short time, John was still shy about initiating little space time but he was always looking for a good excuse to. One rainy evening he found the perfect excuse to.

Sherlock had returned from a long day out working a case and when he gotten back to the flat, he was even more miserable than when he had left. The case had been taxing, to say the least; Sherlock and John had been working it for days, with Sherlock taking more and more time on his own to work it but for all of his frustration, it didn't appear that he was making much headway. He'd left this morning before John had woken up and had left no word all day to what he was doing; by his frazzled appearance and red, frustrated countenance, this day had been just as unproductive as the past ten.

"Hey, Sherlock. I saved some Angelo's for you" John said brightly, pushing a take away container across the coffee table in Sherlock's general direction. He was not surprised that Sherlock didn't take it.

"I'm not hungry…..and don't talk to me right now!" Sherlock said, flustered, rubbing his wild curls in frustration before proceeding to the makeshift lab on the table. For the next two hours, Sherlock was bent awkwardly over his microscope deep in thought, only grunting disapproval any time John dared to make a sound and saying nothing himself.

Trying to unwind and remove himself from the situation, John went to take a shower. While rinsing the shampoo out of his hair, John noticed Sherlock's little basket of colorful bath toys and had to smile. Bath time was a special time; Sherlock could play and be silly and John got to perform the more intimate caregiver role of washing his hair and body. John had only gotten to do it a few times but he loved it; it was so gentle and close and Sherlock was always particularly calm and affectionate afterwards. Given Sherlock's current mood, John thought maybe this could be just what he needed, despite the fact that he still had a case on.

Fully cleaned and relaxed himself, John walked out into the sitting room to the assaulting smell of chemicals and the sounds of Sherlock banging his fists against the table. Though he seemed rather angry and armed with dangerous substances, John was not deterred; he walked purposefully toward Sherlock and said, "Sherlock, time to stop working on that right now"

Sherlock, unused to John's parenting, faltered for a second, test tube in hand. A moment later he seemed to regain his adult self and said, "I'm in the middle of something" in a rough voice.

John's stomach swirled with butterflies as he took the test tube from Sherlock and assumed his authoritative but kind daddy voice. "No, Sherlock. I said, stop. It's time for a bath and bed"

John could see that Sherlock was struggling; his lips twitched as if he wanted to smile, and in some ways he was already leaning toward John as if to let him lead him. But there was still the adult façade there too; his eyes darted toward his supplies and he was frozen on the spot. "I'm in the middle of a case" he protested though it was weak at best.

"And the case will still be here in the morning" John insisted firmly. "But it will help no one if you're not taken care of. You can't be the best detective if you're not in the best of care."

There was deep emotion in Sherlock's eyes, ones that John already knew were little. Despite his inclination to ignore self-care, Sherlock deep down had a need to be cared for and John didn't think that anyone had ever really given him that. He needed to be cared for and John needed to care for him.

Sherlock paused for a long moment, his eyes growing wider and more innocent before he reached out a tentative hand. "Okay, Daddy" he said in a small voice that made something deep inside John come alive.

Himself shy, John reached out a hand to grab Sherlock's. "That's what I like to hear" John said and led Sherlock toward the bathroom.

Soon, the smell of toxic chemicals was replaced by berry scented bubble bath filling the air. The air was heavy with humidity as the steam wafted off the water with the bubble bath. Once the bath tub was full, John threw a few bath tub toys in as Sherlock shyly disrobed and quickly dashed under the cover of the bubbles. John sat down on the closed toilet lid with a towel, settling in for watching Sherlock play in the tub. But it didn't take long to see this wasn't a playing kind of bath; Sherlock's eyes looked heavy as he watched the bubbles move across the water. He half heartily squished his squirter toys but the constant yawning made it obvious he was tired and just needed a wash before bed.

When John knelt down by the tub to begin the washing up process, Sherlock eagerly assented. Throwing a flannel over his face and tilting his head back, he was ready for his hair to be washed. The berry bubble bath smell mingled with coconut as John worked the shampoo into Sherlock's plentiful locks. He noticed Sherlock's face scrunch up a few times as John worked but mostly it seemed he was getting better as a hair-washer; Sherlock's hair was exceptionally sensitive and John was a little proud of himself that he was improving.

After the bath, John wrapped Sherlock up in a towel and dried him off; if he was honest with himself he squeezed Sherlock a little harder than normal, almost like a hug. It was all so new; the taking care of Sherlock, the seeing him vulnerable, the wanting to touch him and being allowed to. They were both learning and John found it the most enjoyable learning experience he had had so far.

While John gathered pyjamas and nappy supplies, Sherlock lay back on the bed, the towel still draped around his bits. At this point, he was still a little shy and wouldn't uncover until John was ready to put his nappy on him. Looking back on it now, when Sherlock would gladly prance through the flat naked when he was little, made John smile; it would still be some time before he'd trust John enough to be that open. John could still remember how happy he was when it came.

With nappy changes came other new baby smells. Of course, there was the inevitable smell of a used nappy but that hardly bothered John; the other smells that came with it made up far more for it. After bath meant baby lotion; John would smooth the baby lotion over Sherlock's skin. The coolness of the lotion in his hand was a contrast when it touched Sherlock's warm skin. He could feel goosebumps pop up along Sherlock's skin as he rubbed the lotion against him and could feel a sigh hum through Sherlock as he touched him. Sherlock had not been touched in caring manner for some time and John would do his best to make up for lost time.

Nappy changes also meant the babyish scent of powder; it hung in the air like an infantile cloud long after Sherlock was nappied up in and in bed. It wasn't until John had finished up cleaning up around the flat, dressed in his own pyjamas and in bed beside Sherlock that all of this seemed to hit him fully.

Sherlock was lying on his side facing John, deeply asleep. His lower half was covered by the duvet, his arms free and curled around his old tattered baby blanket. A dummy moved slightly in his mouth as he automatically suckled in his sleep, his face relaxed and calm as he slept peacefully. Those babyish scents were still heavy in the air; sweet bubble bath, calming lavender lotion and heavy baby powder. All of this spoke of the innocence of babyhood despite the adult man lying beside him.

He hadn't been able to believe it when Sherlock had revealed his little side to him; even less believable was how much he enjoyed that side of Sherlock. He'd fought it in the beginning; he'd believed there was something wrong with his enjoying Sherlock being a child so much. But he'd gotten over that eventually and as he saw Sherlock lying beside him, so peaceful and obviously content, John couldn't help but smile and feel content himself.

John lay down next to Sherlock, feeling sleep claw at him but he tried to fight it a little longer. Slowly, tentatively, John reached out a hand and touched Sherlock's arm, running his fingers along it and feeling calm at the feel of the small connection. Before he'd known of Sherlock's littleness, he'd hardly ever touched Sherlock.

Feeling how complete and happy the simple touch made John, he realized, reluctantly, that Sherlock wasn't the only one that had not been touched kindly in a very long time. And John was going to break the habit for the both of them.


	4. Flour Showers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One rainy Saturday Sherlock and Nana Hudson bake some biscuits and get into some mischief with the leftover flour

It was rainy, quiet Saturday; John's favorite kind. As much as he loved the danger and adrenaline of working with Sherlock, running around London chasing killers, sometimes it was nice to stay at home and do absolutely nothing. He'd slept in far too late, stayed in his pyjamas and nappy and now was updating his blog though in all honesty he was spending more time on Facebook being completely unproductive. But that was okay; being unproductive meant he had more time to watch Sherlock being adorable. Which, of course, he always was when he was little. Right now, Sherlock was still clad in own pyjamas, full of bright colors and dinosaurs, his thicker nappy obvious underneath them. He bit on the end of his dummy, most of it hanging out of his mouth as he concentrated on snapping Legos together to build some huge structure. He was completely content with his task when all of a sudden, his head snapped up to attention, his eyes wide.

"Somebody's making biscuits!" Sherlock exclaimed happily, his dummy falling to the floor neglected in the promise of sweets. He sat up on his knees, looking around expectantly like an animal hunting its prey. John had to laugh.

"I'm sure that someone is Mrs. Hudson; we both know that delicious smell isn't coming from our flat" John said with amusement, setting his laptop aside and watching Sherlock closer.

Sherlock hopped up onto his feet with lightning speed and raced over to John. "Daddy, I'm going downstairs to Nana's place!" he said, almost jumping up and down from excitement.

"I think maybe you want to phrase that a little differently, don't you?" John asked in a half stern Daddy voice; they both already knew that John would let him go.

Sherlock knew enough manners by now to not have to be corrected twice. "Daddy, MAY I go Nana's please?" he asked, though every word seemed to cause him great pains.

John was smiling as he pulled Sherlock onto his lap. "You're leaving Daddy just for biscuits?" John moaned with fake drama, squeezing Sherlock tightly as if would never let him go.

Sherlock allowed it for a few seconds before he wiggled out of John's grasp. "Yep…..sorry Daddy" he said, rushing over the door, a crinkle in every step. "But I do love you!" he called as he tore down the stairs.

"I love you too!" John called out, reaching for a novel he'd been trying to read for some time. If Sherlock was going to Nana's the flat would be quiet for quite a while yet.

Nana's house is the best. She is so fun and always thinks I'm the cutest. She has every Disney film ever made, always has something good to eat and tons of craft items. Last time I went to her flat we made dinosaurs out of old cans and bits of fabric she had lying around while we watched The Jungle Book; it was the BEST! She's always happy to see me and never acts like I'm in her way; she acts like I'm the cutest thing she's ever seen. We always have fun.

So I'm hopping like a bunny from being excited as I knock on the door to her flat. I knock as politely as I can even though it's still a little loud and pull my pyjama bottoms up a little so none of my nappy is showing since Daddy says that rude. It takes Nana a while to come to the door but I try to be patient like Daddy says since she moves slower than me. She does eventually come to the door though, wiping her hands on an apron she's wearing. She smiles big when she sees me and so do I.

"Well, I'm not surprised to see you here and I am delighted" Nana tells me. She looks me over and smiles at me bigger. "Aren't you the cutest little boy in your dino pjs?"

I feel my face a little warmer even though I'm not embarrassed, really. I love being told I'm cute. "Thanks, Nana" I say, looking down at my feet. "Can I come in?"

"Of course you can, sweetie" Nana tells me, taking my hand and pulling me inside. "I figured you might be on your way; I've already got some milk ready in your sippy cup."

"Yippee" I say loud before I can stop myself. Nana just laughs and I know it's okay.

It smells so delicious in Nana's flat! Warm, ooey, gooey chocolate chips are everything I can smell and it's so good that I can almost taste it. When we get to the kitchen I immediately look around for the biscuits that are done but I don't see any, just flour and dirty dishes everywhere. I want to ask where the biscuits are but I don't do that; Daddy would say it was rude. So, I just sit down at the table where my sippy is already sitting and begin to drink, my nappy making crinkling noises against the chair every time I move.

Nana goes back to the counter and looks at her kitchen timer. "It'll be a little while yet until the biscuits are done" she tells me, obviously thinking hard. Then, she smiles, getting an idea. "But I think I have an idea of what we can do until they are finished."

I can tell Nana has a really great idea; I sit up a little taller, my heart already going fast. "What is it? What is it?" I can't help but almost yell as I hop in my seat.

Instead of telling me, Nana just shows me with a smile on her face. Going back over to the counter, she reaches into the bag of flour, grabs a handful and then throws it right at me!

I'm so surprised and I just sit there, frozen like a statue for a moment. The flour hits me right in the chest and left a white patch like snow on my dino pyjamas. I look down at it, and then up at Nana, trying to figure out what she's doing. She smiles slyly and though she's old she looks like a little girl for minute as she throws another bunch of flour at me and it hits me in the shoulder.

"Sherlock…..it's no fun if you don't fight back" Nana says, laughing like I've never seen her laugh before.

Usually I'm pretty smart but it takes me a while to realize what she means; when I do I begin to smile. Nana wants to have a flour fight with me. It's so childish…..so unexpected. And SO MUCH FUN!

I run over to the bag of flour like a race car, grab two handfuls of the soft, squishy flour and throw it at Nana. It hits her in her hair and though she looks stunned for a moment, she then starts laughing like crazy.

We throw so much flour it looks like it's snowing in Nana's kitchen! There's soon so many clouds of flour that I can't see her and she can't see me but we keep throwing until it's all over the table and counters and floors, not to mention our hair, and clothes and skin. We are laughing so much that it's hard to breathe; by the end of it I'm laughing so hard that I find it hard to pick up the flour and throw the flour and I wee a little in my nappy from laughing so much.

Eventually, the ping of the oven tells us that the biscuits are done and me and Nana sit on the flour covered floor, eating hot, gooey biscuits. With my free hand I draw shapes in the flour, feeling my heart stop racing and my breath calm. I'm licking the chocolate off my fingers when I notice Nana looking at me, looking like Casper with her face covered in white powder. She looks like she's really thinking, the way adults do when they feel a lot.

"Sherlock, I really like spending time with you; you make me feel so young" Nana tells me, smiling as she puts an arm around me and pulls me close in a too tight hug.

And I let her because Nana makes me feel so happy I want her too tight hugs as much as her biscuits and flour fights….


	5. You Have to Fucking Eat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock hates to eat, especially vegetables. When John tries to make him it becomes obvious Sherlock would rather sit at the table all night rather than give in. It ends with a guilty John and a pitiful Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inspiration for this drabble and the chapter title come from the definitely adult children's book "You Have to Fucking Eat" by Adam Mansbach about a parent's frustration with kids who don't eat. Happy New Year everyone! May it be a good and little year for you all <3

Getting Sherlock to eat had always been a full time job for John. Long before he'd found out about Sherlock's little side, John was hassling Sherlock about his poor eating habits. Sherlock could and would go for days without eating when he had a case on. Though he would stop long enough for John to eat when they were running after a criminal, he always skipped it himself, saying that digestion interfered with his thinking skills. But that didn't stop John from trying…even when Sherlock wasn't working, he was notoriously bad about remembering to eat. John wasn't sure why; he wasn't sure how anyone could actually forget to eat. When John found out that Sherlock had struggled with eating problems when he was younger, it made a lot more sense. Sherlock didn't exactly have eating problems now but he didn't exactly have a healthy relationship with food either. John took note of anything that he did actually notice that Sherlock liked to eat (the very few things there was) and made sure to always have those things on hand.

When John found out about Sherlock's little side, the battle against food became a little easier. For one thing, he could actually order Sherlock to eat now when he was little. Sure, this had created some tears and time spent on the naughty mat in the beginning but usually Sherlock ate when John asked him to when he was little. But aside from that, it was just more fun to feed a younger Sherlock. Simple things like face pancakes, fun shaped chicken nuggets, fruit cut into different shapes and condiments made into smiley faces on sandwiches always made it easier and more fun to get Sherlock to eat. And if all else failed, John knew Sherlock would always drink from his sippy cup and unlimited amounts of juice, milk or smoothies was better nourishment than nothing at all.

But one point that remained impossible with Sherlock was vegetables. This was not surprising; Sherlock was an overgrown child and for someone who did not like eating, he certainly wasn't going to eat something that didn't taste good. John had tried everything that he could think of; he'd dressed the vegetables up with condiments but it just ended up with Sherlock using the vegetables as a dipper for the ranch or ketchup and leaving them uneaten behind. He'd tried to make them into cute shapes like he did for fruit but that didn't work either. He'd made faces out of them but Sherlock just ate around them. John could have pushed it; he could have insisted Sherlock eat the vegetables before he left the table and if he was really a child John would have. But since Sherlock already had issues with food John didn't like the idea of forcing him to eat anything he didn't want to, especially if he was willing to eat the other foods on the plate.

But even the best Daddy sometimes just couldn't take it anymore. After spending a week on a case, it was the first day Sherlock had had to be little. He wasn't in the best of moods; he'd been cranky and whiny all day and he'd refused all attempts at food earlier, only drinking tons of juice out of his sippy as he whined on the couch all day. John hoped that this wasn't an indication that Sherlock was getting sick. After about the tenth crying episode of the day this time inspired by the fact that John was breathing too loudly while he was watching telly, John himself was fairly irritable and was sure that Sherlock was just in a poor mood.

For dinner John decided to make spaghetti because it was easy and Sherlock actually liked it. Just for the hell of it, he threw some old vegetables into the blender and mixed it in with the sauce as he'd seen on a cooking show; it'd use the vegetables before they went bad and it would give Sherlock some nutrients he wouldn't know was there under the tomato sauce. John was feeling pretty pleased with himself as he dished it out onto plates and called Sherlock in to eat.

John could hear Sherlock whining even before he entered the kitchen. Sherlock shuffled in, blankie dragging and nappy rustling. He plopped into the chair across from John and instantly said, "I'm not hungry"

"You have to eat something. I don't even know how long it's been since you ate…far too long with our case going on" John said. He handed Sherlock his favorite dinosaur shaped plate and matching fork, hoping it would make eating a little more interesting.

To John's immense pleasure, Sherlock actually looked please as he took in the dino plate and form, eagerly scooping some spaghetti onto the fork. It didn't last long.

"What is that!?" Sherlock shrieked, throwing his fork down, his fingers clasped around a miniscule speck from his food.

"What? Did a bug land on your plate?" John asked, looking closely at the speck. You would have thought it was a bug for all of the fuss that Sherlock made. However it was a microscopic piece of squash that the blender didn't entirely blend.

"That is a vegetable!" Sherlock squealed, throwing the piece of squash onto the table and pushing his plate away. "I am NOT eating that!"

Sherlock crossed his arms and turned away from the plate, nose turned up. John sighed, infinitely too tired to deal with this right now. "It's spaghetti…..eat it" he said flatly.

"I'm not eating any vegetables that pretend to be spaghetti…..yucky!" Sherlock whined, pushing his chair across the floor to get further away from the food.

Normally, John would have prodded Sherlock, playfully encouraged him to eat. They might have even read the delightfully adultish kid's book John had found that was perfect for Sherlock, 'You Have to Fucking Eat'. Sherlock laughed all the way through simply because they got to cuss as they read it and he usually did actually eat after they read it. But John didn't have the energy or the desire this time. He wasn't winning any parent of the year awards today.

"You're not getting up until you eat" John said with firm finality.

"It's yucky!" Sherlock moaned, looking at the plate in disgust.

"My food is not yucky! Stop saying that…..you haven't even tried it!" John said tiredly. Sherlock started to whine and the sound was like nails on a chalkboard. Taking a breath to keep from doing something stupid, John scooped up his plate and left the table. He'd gotten almost to the living room when Sherlock stopped whining and stared wide eyed at John.

"Where are going?" Sherlock demanded, as if surprised John didn't actually want to listen to his constant whinging.

"I'm eating in my room because you're being unpleasant" John said, "And you're not getting up until you eat all your food so don't even ask"

Sherlock looked completely and utterly stunned before he broke out into an ear piercing wail. John only sighed and stalked out of the room, carrying his plate to his bedroom and shutting the door behind him. Despite the stairs and closed door, John could still hear Sherlock crying and it grated on him. He put headphones on and listened to uncharacteristically brazen music, angrily eating his dinner. Not wanting an argument, John lay down on his bed and listened to several songs after he finished eating, until he could no longer hear Sherlock's wailing.

Steeling himself, John got off the bed and slowly made his way down the stairs. When he walked into the kitchen, the sight was enough to thaw out his frozen heart. Sherlock's head was on the table next to his plate, his loud cries just pitiful whimpering. He looked up as John walked into the room, his face red, snot and tears smeared across it pitifully. It was enough to make John forget the whole thing. It was enough-

"Please don't make me eat this gross food!" Sherlock begged.

Well, it was almost enough…

"Sherlock, I meant what I said" John said firmly, "You have to eat. You can't go days without eating. There is nothing wrong with your spaghetti. You're not getting up"

This, of course, produced a fresh wave of tears in Sherlock.

John cleaned the kitchen and Sherlock continued to cry…John went to Mrs. Hudson's for a card game and Sherlock continued to cry…John got ready for bed and Sherlock still continued to cry…John was tired just listening to him. Shuffling into the kitchen hours later, Sherlock was still crying and he still hadn't touched his food. John really just wanted to be done with the whole thing but he knew if he gave in now, after making such a big deal of it Sherlock wouldn't respect other rules later. He had to be tough.

"Sherlock, I'm going to bed" John announced, as Sherlock nosily blew his nose into a napkin, looking miserable. "When you are finished eating, you come up and joining me."

John knew it would kill Sherlock, John going to bed without him and he wasn't disappointed. Sherlock looked as if someone had died. "I'm tired!" he begged. "I want to go to bed! I'm not hungry"

"Sherlock, your body needs food. Eat, then go to bed" John insisted even though it killed him a little bit inside. Sherlock looked miserable.

Sherlock obviously couldn't cry anymore; his head fell to the table in despair as John left but he still didn't make any effort to eat. Sherlock hated to eat but this was a new level of avoiding food even for him.

John was tired and though the bed felt empty and lonely without Sherlock, he went to sleep quickly. When he awoke, he was stiff and sore from lying in one positon all night. He stretched, already feeling morning sunshine on his face. Opening his eyes and blinking into the morning light, he was stunned to see that Sherlock was not in bed with him. Figuring he must have either gotten up earlier or was so upset at John that he slept alone, John made his way downstairs to make amends.

Sherlock wasn't in his room or the living room and when John made it to the kitchen he couldn't but laugh. Slumped over onto the table, fork still in hand, spaghetti on his face, was a very asleep Sherlock. John didn't know whether to be pleased or ashamed at his harshness. Sherlock had obviously made an effort but had fallen asleep before he could complete it.

Sympathy stirring in him, John sat down next to Sherlock and gently nudged him awake. Confused and disoriented, Sherlock's arms flailed around, before his fork automatically went for his plate. "I know…..I know…..I have to fucking eat" Sherlock muttered. His fork came towards his mouth clumsily. Sherlock was too tired to notice his food fell into the floor and his mouth opened twenty seconds too late to catch it anyway. It was so pitiful John couldn't even chide him for the curse.

"I think you've eaten enough. How about a nap?" John asked gently as he wiped Sherlock mouth off with a towel and helped him get up off the chair.

Sherlock tried to smile but it looked more like a grimace he was so tired. "Good…..sounds good" he said, his eyes fluttering, almost half asleep on his feet.


	6. The Bed Wetter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wets the bed without trying to; Sherlock is thrilled and John most certainly isn't

John had slept for nearly twelve hours the night before but he was still and inclined to just have a sleepy Saturday. It was a grey, cold, February Saturday post- case and Sherlock wasn't feeling little; he was deeply immersed in a chemical study he'd been commissioned to by a local university. So, for John that meant no work and no responsibility for taking care of Sherlock; he was free to do whatever he wanted. This idea wasn't as appealing as it had been ten years ago; he really enjoyed taking care of Sherlock, being childish and silly. But, he wasn't going to complain either. Grabbing a few beers, he turned on his computer for some work on his blog and most likely more time spent on social media, making his way toward the bedroom for a new nappy and…..

His relaxing Saturday was ruined in record time. Digging into the back of his and Sherlock's nappy storage in the closet all he found was an empty bag. Frowning, he carried the bag into the kitchen where Sherlock was working. "We're out of nappies? Completely out of nappies?" John demanded. He was quite sure that hadn't happened in years, not once since they had both started to wear.

To his fury, Sherlock just looked briefly from the microscope with a bit of a sneer on his face. "It would appear so" he said in a totally, smart ass voice, John thought. It was all well in good for him, as long as he was not being little he didn't need nappies. John, on the other hand wore more often than not.

"Why didn't you tell me this we were this low?" John demanded, shaking the empty nappy bag as if that would make a difference. He knew they were low and he'd ordered more nappies but he had no idea they were this low or he would have ordered them sooner; it would be a miracle if they came day.

"You use most of them; you ought to keep better track of what you've got" Sherlock said, squinting at the microscope and obviously annoyed that John was bothering him.

John forced himself to mentally count to ten before he spoke. "You told me yesterday you had a whole pack of nappies in your closet" John said a bit seething, "So, it shouldn't be a shocker that I took that to mean we weren't out of nappies"

"Bothering me about it isn't going to change nothing" Sherlock said with a huff of annoyance, "Have a drink and leave me alone"

Sherlock's personality had improved over the years; most of the time he was even sweet, big or little. But that didn't change the fact that he was still Sherlock and if he wanted to be left alone, he could just be mean. John had learned that though his first reaction was to argue back, it wouldn't ever do any good so he just saved his breath, grabbed his drinks and went into the sitting room alone.

Though John was annoyed at the argument with Sherlock and the fact that he had no nappies, he relaxed throughout the day. He updated his blog, watched some films by himself and was feeling pretty calm by dinnertime when Sherlock finally finished his experiment. Even Sherlock was now his more usual, pleasant self. They had a great dinner at Angelo's and later at home when the power went off for an hour because of all the storms, they sat by the window, listening to the rain entwined in each other's arms.

John didn't really bemoan the loss of his nappies until he went to bed. Sure, he'd notice the inconvenience of it all day; he had no bladder capacity whatsoever anymore. It was annoying to get up and go pee what felt like constantly. But it wasn't until he got into bed that he missed them in a different way. His pants itched and rubbed him the wrong way and just so felt so thin and inadequate as he rolled around trying to get to sleep. He missed the familiar press of warm cotton against him and the secure feeling it gave him. It would have sounded completely stupid to anyone who didn't wear nappies but when he wore one, especially to bed, he felt…safe. This revelation was even a surprise to him, after having worn for years. That safe, secure, protected feeling of nappies is something he would have associated with an adult baby like Sherlock for the reason that it made him feel like a baby; young, innocent and released from the cares of the adult world. John wasn't an adult baby and he wasn't even a little so his association of nappies with safety and security and not pure deep seated kink was a surprise to even himself. Feeling a bit lost, John pulled a sleeping Sherlock closer to him in an effort to lull himself to sleep.

John eventually fell asleep but he felt like he didn't sleep long. Startling awake in the darkness to the sound of the rain still falling, John was immediately aware that he was very cold.

Very cold and very wet.

Mentally telling himself that Sherlock must have had an accident even though he knew deep down he didn't, John wrenched back the blanket to see their very wet sheets. And Sherlock, who had rolled away during sleep was completely dry.

Damn…

Muttering curses to himself, John contemplated how to clean up the bed without waking Sherlock and realized, of course, it was impossible. John's face flushed as he looked down at his cold, sopping wet pyjama bottoms. It shouldn't have really bothered him that badly; he used nappies all the time and there wasn't a room in the whole flat that Sherlock hadn't peed in at some point. But it did…it was one thing to use nappies, even to willingly having an accident didn't bother him but having a genuine, true accident did. John didn't like the feeling of no control and right now he felt just like a little boy who had had an accident while trying to be potty trained and was too scared to tell anyone.

John was spared the tragedy of trying to decide how to wake Sherlock because at that moment Sherlock rolled over, stretching out and blinking tiredly. True to Sherlock form, he looked half asleep but he still said, "You peed the bed….."

John could tell that he wasn't fully awake yet because he was lethargic in his accusations but he was still right nonetheless and John felt himself blush heavily.

But John could see Sherlock slowly coming to awareness as his eyes opened wider and his smile spread. "You wet the bed….you wet the bed for REAL!" Sherlock accused, sitting up and pointing at John with a laugh.

John could feel heat radiate off his cheeks but he tried not to look guilty as he felt. "Oh…..like you never did that!" John shot back. It was weak but it was all that he could think of.

"No…..a genuine accident, at night…..like a REAL BABY? NO!" Sherlock said, getting more and more enjoyment out of it while John grew more distressed. His wet clothes clung heavily to him, making him feel so uncomfortable he could barely think. The last thing John wanted to be, despite his interest in nappies, was to be a baby. Wetting the bed like a little baby made him feel ironically old.

"No! I'm not a baby! Jesus, Sherlock…why do you always try to make me feel little? This isn't a good thing! "John said, his voice breaking in hysteria.

"No, don't you see, John? This is a good thing!" Sherlock said, his eyes wide, grabbing John by the hand.

John felt a bit sick to his stomach. He wanted a shower, he wanted dry sheets…he wanted his nappies NOW!

"A good thing? Why? What could possibly be good about me pissing the bed and not meaning to?" John said a bit frantically.

Sherlock titled his head and rolled his eyes with a smile, as if he couldn't believe John was being so unreasonable. "John, do you know how many adult babies and diaper lovers would give anything to wet the bed without trying? How many actively try to make it happen?" Sherlock asked with amusement and excitement.

John scowled at Sherlock. "I'm not an adult baby and I sure don't want to be able to wet the bed on cue!" John said, his face feeling rather like it would never stop being aflame.

"Why not?" Sherlock asked in bewilderment, obviously at a loss why anyone would not want to willingly wet the bed.

"Because!" John said, as if it should be obvious, "It's one thing to use nappies when I want to but I don't want to be incontinent! I don't want to HAVE to wear nappies…..I just want to wear them because I like them!"

John had worn nappies nearly 24/7 for years and while he knew his bladder capacity was shit he never really expected to rely on them. Maybe Sherlock was right; maybe he should have been happy about it. He hated wearing pants by now anyway and he only did it when he had no nappies or if he couldn't for some work related reason. But still…needing nappies and wanting them was a totally different thing. He didn't want to feel he was going to have a genuine accident if he was ever without them, especially if he was without a nappy in public.

John felt a surge of some strong, heavy emotion in his chest and he felt like he couldn't speak. He could feel Sherlock's eyes on him but he didn't want to deal with his happiness; he knew this was only one accident but it felt like some line was drawn by it.

To John's surprise, Sherlock actually seemed to pick up on how distressed his happiness was making John and his smile faded from his face.

"It's alright, John" Sherlock said, trying his best to sound bracing and encouraging and only smiling a little bit as he put his arm John, "It probably doesn't mean anything. We drank a lot of wine at dinner, I'm sure that it was only a fluke."

John knew that Sherlock was trying and really he should have given Sherlock credit for it but he was so bothered by the whole thing that he simply couldn't. "You were just going on about great it was I had a REAL accident" John said bitterly, turning so he was staring at Sherlock with cold despair.

Sherlock seemed lost for a moment, his eyes roving around helplessly as if he didn't know what to do now that his weak help hadn't helped at all. "Well, I was looking at it how I would see it, not how it really is" Sherlock said after a long pause, "I mean, obviously if it had happened to me, I would be happy because it would make me feel like a real baby. But it doesn't really mean anything…..it's just too much wine and not being used to not having nappies…..I'm sure that it won't happen again. You're obviously NOT incontinent"

John had to smile a bit, despite himself. Sherlock WAS trying…..and though he really felt like this did mean he was becoming incontinent, at least a little bit, he was bolstered by Sherlock's concern. It wasn't exactly like it was as devastating as if he'd had no interest in nappies; he wasn't some poor soul who felt having to wear a nappy was the end of the world. He loved wearing nappies and he would have been wearing one right now if he'd had any.

"I suppose you're right" John said, giving Sherlock a weak smile even though he wasn't sure that Sherlock WAS right. When he saw how Sherlock smiled, he knew it was the right thing.

"Of course I am" Sherlock said, puffing up with false bravado, "Now, let's get this bed straightened up and we'll go happily back to sleep, right?

Still embarrassed, but trying not to be, John just nodded. While he went to the bathroom to clean off and change into dry clothes, Sherlock changed the sheets and laid extra towels over the wet spot on the mattress. John felt a bit sheepish when he walked into the room and saw Sherlock dressing the bed but Sherlock only smiled and held out his arms while lying on the bed, just trying to make John feel at ease about his accident. He gave John a shy smile and John felt himself melt a bit; his embarrassment fizzled out and all he could think about was rushing into those waiting arms.

As he lay in Sherlock's arms, trying to drift back to sleep and hoping that he didn't have an accident again (he'd already made himself use the toilet twice just in case), he could feel Sherlock's eyes on him. He opened his eyes and could see Sherlock watching him in the darkness.

"It's really okay, John" Sherlock said, his voice more genuine now. "Even if it was a real accident, it's okay."

"You think?" John asked, his eyes searching Sherlock's, wanting to see what Sherlock saw that made him so sure.

"Well, yeah….you're only ever going to share your bed with someone who is okay with bedwetting, right?" Sherlock asked, as if he was a bit unsure; not of the bed wetting, but that John was always going share his bed. After all this time, John didn't know how he could doubt him.

John gave Sherlock a long, lingering kiss, pulling him closer. When they pulled back, John stroked Sherlock's cheek. "You're right…you're the only one who's ever going to share my bed. I have nothing to worry about" John assured him. Sherlock gave him a shy, but satisfied smile and they pulled each other closer, curling up, warm and happy to the rest of a wet-bed free night.


	7. Tough Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock learns how much Myc cares for him in a very unexpected way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this may be one of the favorite things I've written in this series......hope you all love it too!

Myc's picking me up today and we're going to the park; he said he'd be here exactly twelve minuets ago. Myc is late and I'm sitting by the door, staring at it; he'll be here in at least ten minutes away still….no, wait…nine minutes. He's walking faster than usual because he knows he's late and he also knows that I will know if he's late. I do smile a bit at the idea of his embarrassed smile he'll give me when he gets here even if I am bored just sitting on the floor staring at the door.

"Why don't you watch some telly?" Daddy suggests from his desk as he types on his computer. I don't even bother turning around to look at him because he knows I'm not going to waste my time with that now. MYC IS COMING…

"Myc is only eight minutes down the road" I tell Daddy importantly, "I wouldn't even get through one program…..pointless…."

"How silly of me" Daddy says, laughing a bit. And he is, really, very silly.

I cross my legs and sit up a bit straighter, so I'll be really ready for Myc. I have my wellingtons on in case of mud or water, my best stretchy 'play' shorts as Daddy calls them, and Myc's favorite shirt of mine. It has the words 'Little Bro' on it in blue and green and even though Daddy bought it for me, Myc loves it. He loves being my big bro. When I wear it out adults give me weird looks but I don't care; all that matters is Myc likes it. And I do too.

When Myc gets close, I'm bouncing on my knees, feeling excitement running through me. I can hear him clumping up the stairs, right before he raps on the door; my heart is beating fast, my breath seems hard to catch and even though I don't look, I can feel Daddy looking happy behind me.

I let Myc knock a few times, making him wait, but only a few times because it's too hard to wait! I leap up like a frog and yank the door open and remind Myc, before I forget or before he does, "You're late!"

Myc DOES give me that little, embarrassed smile like I knew that he would. "I got held up on a phone call with the Prime Minister; is that that good enough reason to late?" Myc asks me in a very serious, adult voice. It makes me laugh.

"No, tell the Prime Minister next time that play time is more important!" I say, stamping my foot a bit as if I'm mad but I'm not really and I think Myc knows it because he's smiling.

"I'll make sure I do just that!" Myc says, looking excited. "Ready to go, then, I assume?"

It's just then that I notice his shirt. I was so busy telling him off for being late that I did not notice it before. It's just like my own shirt, with the blue and green letters except that it says, "Big Bro" instead of little bro.

"Myc! I LOVE your shirt!" I tell him, hopping up and down. "Now we match!"

Myc looks really happy as he looks down at his shirt and then back up at me. "I know, isn't it perfect?" he asks, "I loved your shirt so much I had one made to match"

It IS perfect, so perfect that I give Myc a big hug, then move back real quick, a little embarrassed. "It is definitely perfect!" I tell him, feeling my cheeks a little warm but not too much; I'm getting used to hugging Myc.

"Well, are you ready to go?" Myc prompts me, so caught up in his shirt and my excitement. "Did you say goodbye to Daddy?"

I HAVENT said goodbye to Daddy; Myc is the best at knowing what I did and didn't do. I rush quickly over to Daddy and give him a big hug as he smiles at me. "Bye Daddy!" I tell him, squeezing harder.

Even he squeezes back harder as he hugs me. "Bye sweetie, I'll miss you. Have fun with Myc"

As if I could do anything BUT have fun with Myc! "I will Daddy!" I tell him before running off toward the door. "Let's go!" I tell Myc, and I begin to march down the stairs like a general and Myc follows me down the stairs like he's a solider.

When I open the front door and walk out onto the street, Myc insists on taking my hand; I don't mind because it feels soft and nice in mine. We walk down the street toward the park and I watch the clouds in the sky as we walk.

"Oh, Myc! Do you see the cloud shaped like a heart!?" I ask him, pointing up to a cloud that looks exactly like a heart.

Myc looks up at the sky, searching it but I can tell that he doesn't see any heart. "I don't see a heart….but I do see a dog. Right over there….."Myc tells me.

I follow the path of his free hand, pointing. I still see my heart cloud floating in the sky but then I see, right where his finger is pointing, a cloud that looks like a yorkie dog. "Aww…..a little yorkie puppy!" I say, hopping a little. I'd love a yorkie puppy…..I'd love any little cat or dog for real but Daddy says no…..he says we aren't home enough to have a pet. Suppose that's fair; I wouldn't want it to get lonely without us all the time. But that still doesn't stop me from still wishing I could come home to a happy little kitty or doggie to pet at the end of a day.

"You love puppies?" Myc asks me as we walk. We pass a hotdog stand and it's all I can do not to stop. I'd like a hot dog even though I hate food.

Of course, Myc knows this and pays for two hotdogs, one for him and one for me. We eat them as we continue to walk toward the park. "Well, yeah" I tell him as if he should know this already, because he should. "I'd love a cat or a dog for a pet. But Daddy says no because we couldn't care for it much"

"He's probably very right about that; you two have been busy, especially lately" Myc tells me. We sit on a bench in the park to finish our hotdogs and I think about that. Daddy and me have been busy lately; very busy. I like this; at least big me likes this. But it doesn't leave much time for me to be little and John to be Daddy. I'm glad we have had a break and I quickly push work out of my mind so it doesn't make me big.

When I finish my hotdog, I wipe the extra sauce on my shirt and look around at the playground. What should I do first? Slides? Swings? Seesaw? I'm thinking about it all when Myc tells me, "Go ahead, Sherlock. Don't be shy"

He knows of course that I am not shy and I never have been. But it's our own little way of telling each other that it's okay to be little. Myc has a way of making everyone else at the park disappear; the park becomes ours when we want it. Of course I know why this is when I'm big but when I am little all that matters is that I know I can be little without worrying about anything. I can play and be silly and no one cares; I don't even have to care about my needs because Myc will take care of everything.

So, I don't be shy, of course; like I ever COULD be shy. I decide that the first thing I'm going to do is play in the sandbox, actually. I take a running jump up into the air, making it blow my hair around as I soar through the air and come to land kablam! Into the soft, hot sand. I immediately begin digging through the hot sand, filling up one of the pails someone left in the box. I LOVE sand; I love things I can feel with hands and feet and all of my body. Daddy always worries a bit about the sand; he always checks it when we come to make sure no cats or anything has pooped in it. He's a doctor so he can't help it.

I love the way sand runs through your fingers and feels squishy but hard through your fingers, like sugar but only hot. I love how it feels anywhere it touches my skin. Well, except for when it gets in my nappy or pants. That's just terrible, I'm sure you know.

As I fill up the pail, I look at Myc watching me from the bench. He's not like other grown-ups; he doesn't read a paper or look at his mobile while I play. He only watches me. After watching me a while, he usually comes to join me. I'm lucky with him and Daddy; they aren't there to just let me play and get it over with. They really do like to watch me.

Everything's really calm; I'm filling up the pail with hot, rough feeling sand and feeling the warm sun on my face; Myc is watching me and I can feel his smile without even looking at it. That's when I begin to hear it; bells, music, jingling sounds…the ice cream truck is coming down the street.

I don't think about anything other than that I want ice cream. I'm not a total baby so I do actually know I'm supposed to ask Myc if it's okay but it's like my mind goes as white as snow when I hear it; nothing is in there but the idea that I want to eat ice cream.

My legs leap out of the hot sand and begin to propel toward the sound of the ice cream truck in the street. I can vaguely hear Myc behind me but I know he will follow me; he'll know I want ice cream and he'll buy me some because he's that smart and kind. I'm running so fast I can feel air on my legs as I run out into the street, only feet from the ice cream truck. I reach my hand out, fingers grasping….

At the last second there's the sound of a car horn and a rough hand on my arm pulling me back. I feel air from the truck blow my hair back as I am pulled back onto the concrete. I'm angry, very; I WANTED ice cream and now my arm hurts. I'm about to yell at Myc but I turn around and the words freeze in my throat.

Myc is MAD…I've seen him this angry before when I'm big but I've never seen him this angry when I'm little. Just looking at his scrunched, red face, his hand clamped tightly around my arm makes me instantly feel even smaller than I did. My stomach feels like its falling and my free hand instantly goes to hold myself; I wish I hadn't worn pants today because I could definitely wee myself right now.

"Sherlock Holmes what do you think you're doing?" Myc asks me in a loud voice that sounds like thunder.

"Nothing!" I say. It's true, I'm doing nothing now except my legs are shaking and I'm trying not to pee my pants.

But obviously saying nothing isn't what Myc wants to hear because his face gets even redder. "Are you supposed to just run into the street like that?" he asks.

No…..no, I'm not. "No…"I say, knowing now I'm going to be in trouble. "I wanted ice cream though….."

This makes Myc even madder. I feel like throwing up. "I was calling your name; I know you heard me" Myc says. "You nearly got run over by a car. If I hadn't pulled you back, you WOULD have been hit by that truck and you could have DIED"

Myc's properly yelling now and I'm scared. I certainly wasn't trying to DIE! "I'm…..I'm…..I'm sorry "I stutter out, my tongue getting stuck in my mouth. "I didn't mean to-"

"You did mean to ignore me and that was very naughty. That was a bad thing to do, Sherlock" Myc says and I feel about as small as ant when he says it. I can feel my throat getting tight and my eyes hot and watery. Everything looks blurry; I don't look at Myc. I don't want to be bad…

And then Myc does something that absolutely stuns me; he spanks me. Before I can even see it coming, Myc smacks me on the bum, right where my shorts end, the part where your bum and leg come together that always hurts so badly, three times. Before I can say anything, he's pulling me down the street and I know he's taking me home. I don't try to fight him; I just let him pull me down the street. Myc has never spanked me before. And he's never called me bad. I don't want him to see me crying so I turn my head away from him and keep my cries quiet but crocodile tears, as Daddy calls them, are running down my cheeks.

Myc doesn't let go of me the whole time we walk; even when we get home he doesn't let go until we are back in the sitting room. Daddy is still sitting at his computer and when we come in, he says, "You guys are back already?" before he looks up from his work. When stops typing and looks at us, he stops smiling and says, "What's wrong?"

Daddy's eyes are looking right at mine; I can't quiet cry anymore. "Daddy!" is all I can manage to say before I'm throwing myself at him. I wrap my arms around him tightly, my face in his neck that smells so perfectly musky and Daddy-like. It all comes out fast and loud now; I'm sobbing so hard that I can't catch my breath.

"What happened?" Daddy asks me more than once but I can't talk, I can barely breathe. When I don't answer, Myc answers for me.

"Sherlock ran out into the street and ignored me when I called him to stop. He's upset because I spanked him for not listening" Myc tells Daddy. He sounds much calmer now that we are home but I don't look at him. I'm not upset because Myc spanked me; not really. I'm upset because he thinks I'm naughty.

I think Daddy will pull me into his lap and tell me it's alright; I think he'll tell Myc he shouldn't have yelled at me. I think we'll cuddle and he'll make me feel good and all the things I want. But he doesn't.

Daddy pulls me back so I'm looking at him. I don't want to stop hugging him and it's even worse when I see his face. He's disappointed; I feel really bad. "Sherlock, is that true?" Daddy asks, looking into my eyes again. Only, this time when he does it, I don't feel good.

I can only look at my shoes; Daddy and Myc are both mad at me and I can't stop more crocodile tears from rolling down my face. No one moves to hug me or tell me it's okay; I cover my face with my hands and cry into them.

"Sherlock, I think you need to go to your bedroom for a few minutes" Myc says behind me. I turn around and look at him but I can't tell what he's thinking; he doesn't look sad or mad or anything. I turn around and look at Daddy, but he doesn't help.

"You heard Mycroft" Daddy tells me. "He was in charge and you're to listen to him when you're out together. When you don't listen, you get punished."

This is the WORST; Daddy and Myc are both mad at me. Now they BOTH think I'm bad.

I take off running toward my bedroom as fast as I can and slam the door behind me. I think about breaking something, I'm so full of feelings but eventually all I do is throw myself on the bed and finish crying.

I can hear Myc and Daddy talking in the sitting room but I can't hear what they are saying. I put my pillow over my head so I can't hear anything at all. It gets super-hot and wet under there from my breath and tears but I don't care. I want to hide from everything.

I wasn't thinking…..I wasn't really thinking about not listening to Myc and I certainly wasn't thinking about getting killed by a car. Sometimes I don't listen to Daddy or Myc and it's on purpose but this time it really wasn't. It might not seem like it sometimes but I really do want to be good; I don't want to be bad.

I'm tired and almost asleep when I hear the sound of the door open. I can tell by the sound of the shoes that it's Myc and I come out from my hiding place. I feel Myc sit down on the bed next to me and before I can stop him, Myc has pulled the pillow back from my face so I have to look at him. He doesn't look angry anymore and he doesn't look like nothing either. He looks almost happy but he doesn't smile yet. He has a cold, wet flannel in his hands and he uses it to clean my face and cool it down. I scrunch up my face like I really don't like it but actually I do; it feels good. My face felt like it was on fire but it doesn't anymore.

When I'm cleaned up, Myc grabs a tissue off the nightstand and holds it to my nose so that I have to blow it and snot goes everywhere. When I'm finally clean again, Myc looks at me and he looks so calm and gentle, he looks so much like he loves me that I almost start crying all over again. I am bad.

"Sherlock, I hope you know that out there in the street when I was yelling, I wasn't really doing it because I was mad at you" Myc tells me.

He was yelling so of course I thought he was mad but of course I don't say this.

"I wasn't mad, I was terrified" Myc says, his voice sounding not normal and a bit shaky. "You took off before I could stop you and you have no idea how close that car came to hitting you." He points to his shirt that says, 'Big Bro'. "I'm your big brother and it's my job to protect you. If anything like that happened to you I'm not sure what I would do. I spanked you so that you'd know how serious it was and would remember next time. Are you okay?"

No….no, I'm not okay. It's all wrong; it wasn't the spanking that bothered me. My eyes feel all teary again. "No…..you said I was bad" I say and now my voice is the one that sounds shaky.

Myc grabs my hands and makes me sit up so that I'm looking really into his face. I try to loosen my hands from his but I can't; he holds on. "You know that isn't what I meant" Myc says, firm but not exactly mean, "I did not like your behavior; you made a bad decision of what you did but that doesn't mean you are bad yourself. Your behavior can be bad without you being bad. I'm sorry that it hurt your feelings."

"It's okay" I say, mostly sure that it is but still feeling yucky in my stomach.

Myc is quiet for a moment, looking like he's thinking before he speaks again. "Sherlock, did I ever tell you about the first time I ever saw you?" he says.

I shake my head. "No" I tell him, but I'm instantly interested. Me and Myc still don't talk much about when we were actually kids, even though I'm little with him now.

"Well, "Myc says, smiling as he thinks, "All the time that Mum was pregnant with you, everyone told me how grown up I was now and how I would make a very good big brother. I was actually quite excited and felt I really would be good at it. But then, when I went to the hospital and they put you into my arms the first time, I did not feel like a grown up kid anymore. You were so tiny, all red and scrunched up and you already had a ton of black curls. You were so small that I was sure I was going to break you; it was all that I could think about until Mum took you back."

I try to imagine that; Myc so small, a kid himself and me a real baby. Not an adult baby, a baby baby. "But it got better after that. I realized that I wasn't going to hurt you. I held you and didn't drop you. I fed you and you didn't choke. I played with you and laughed…..I was taking good care of you." Myc looks sad for a moment. "I may have lost my way of some things over the years but deep down I have always wanted to take good care of you. It's not always easy and sometimes it wasn't what you wanted. But I hope I've done a good job."

Myc HAS done a good job. For some reason, I feel like crying again but I'm not sure why this time. There were plenty of times that Myc tried to take care of me and I didn't want it; all those times he took me out of drug houses and nursed me through withdrawals…none of that was what I wanted at the time but it was a good thing. To avoid thinking of all of this and going to a dark place, I think of things Myc has done that I have wanted.

"You have a done a good job…..a really good job. Even when I was a meanie" I tell Myc, feeling my sadness melt away like ice as I think of all the good things.

Myc smiles now, a big proper smile now. "We good now?" he asks, holding out his arms for me to hug.

I don't have to think about it; I rush as quickly as I can into his arms. His arms are strong and warm and big; it feels just right as I tell him, "We are great"


	8. Close Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock recalls the first time he thought about John being his Daddy

I have always tried to be careful as I can be about my little side. Even when I was young I knew that it was a secret that shouldn't be shared. Whenever someone would happen to find something of my little side, it was always negative enough that I knew I never wanted to share it, not with anyone. My Mum found some of nappies when I was a kid and asked incessantly why I had them and no excuse could put her off; I eventually told her I wet the bed and was too embarrassed to tell her about it. It was a lie, of course, and I felt bad by how bad she seemed to feel about my fake bedwetting guilt but certainly that was better than telling her the truth. When Mycroft found me in bed one night, wearing a nappy and sucking on a dummy when I was teenager he accused me of liking kids in a gross, going-to-jail kind of way and not a I-just-want-to-BE-a-kid way. I was so horrified I don't think I convinced him very well it wasn't true and it wasn't until much later he realized the truth.

Needless to say, I wanted to make sure that that never happened again. I had my own room at uni and though I had a few flatmates as an adult none of them lasted long enough to ever come close enough to finding out about my littleness. Until John…the first time I met him I just KNEW he was going to last. I couldn't put my finger on what it was yet but I knew he was a keeper. The longer I lived with John, the harder it was to keep it from him. He'd overlook a lot of things I would have noticed but he isn't stupid and he picked on things and I had to lie. Part of me so WANTED to tell him; if you're a little, I'm sure you know what I am talking about. You start mentally convincing yourself that said person would understand until you start dreaming about your little space life with said person…I'd be alone in my room at night, cuddling with a stuffy and sucking on my dummy and thinking about a future where I had told John and he accepted my secret without question. Of course, I always thought back to my Mum and Mycroft's horror and talked myself out of telling John. Of course, eventually, John did find out my secret and even though I tried to cover it up, HE was the one who made it work. Even though I had sought to keep it secret, there were plenty of close calls, living in such proximity to John.

The first time was after a long, tiring case. We'd only known each other a few months so this was before I gotten used to daydreaming about a little-accepting John. John had done relatively well adjusting to life with me, and as I was a terrible flatmate and he'd already lasted longer than any of my previous flatmates, so it was really quite a miracle. We'd had our first, proper, nasty fight in the middle of a case and John had left me to finish up on my own. I actually felt bad, really bad about it all day and that was another thing that made me realize how different John was; I never had felt bad about quarreling with anyone else. I was exhausted from the case and drained from thinking about fighting with John so when I got home that night, I already had being little in mind. I didn't have the energy to play or take a bath; I just wanted to throw on a nappy and bury myself under the covers with a bottle.

When I got home, I found a package with my name on it, sitting by the door. I knew it was the new nappies I had ordered and panicked when I saw the state of the box. It was battered, so much so that the tape at one end was curled off the box by several inches. I felt a little faint; had John opened my package?! John was sitting on the couch, reading a book and I was so panicked he might have seen the package that I didn't notice he wasn't paying me any attention, in fact he was actively ignoring me.

"Did you open my package!?" I demanded, and before he could even answer I said, "You can't open my things! What is the matter with you?"

I was so panicked by the mere thought that John might have discovered my secret that I couldn't notice that John clearly had no idea what I was talking about; he was still mad at me and couldn't care less about my package.

John put his book down a bit too forcefully and whipped around to look at me. "Me? You're the one who has been in a pissy mood all bloody day" John said his face growing redder and redder by the moment. "You want to yell at someone, yell at the post man; he's the one delivered your package like that!"

Without saying anything else, John stalked off to his room which was fine by me; I grabbed my package and rushed to me room to hide it before John could decide to come back and find out my secret. Closing the door behind me, I hid the nappies away and proceeded with my post-case little time.

Little time in the days before John knew was much sadder and lonelier. It wasn't that it was never fun; if I was in a good mood I could easily play or take a bubble bath alone and have great fun with it. But a lot of times, especially with emotions running high post-case, they were sad, emotional times. This time, I had put on a nappy, made a bottle while John was hidden in his room and then buried myself under the covers. I had gotten through half the bottle when I began to sob uncontrollably. Before John knew about my little side, I didn't understand my feelings very well at all. I couldn't understand why I always cried after a case (I was emotionally overwhelmed) and I was embarrassed by it even though I was the only one who saw it (I thought I should have been 'stronger' which only compounded my sad feelings). John has brought such a level of understanding and acceptance to how I feel about myself it's amazing; I care about myself because he showed me I was worth caring about. But I didn't know any of this then. That may come as a surprise to you; I seem arrogant and self-absorbed but that is a front.

My bottle fell off the pillow and rolled under the covers I clutched my pillow to my face and cried as if my heart would break. I had solved a case, and, if I may say so, I did it brilliantly. Why should I feel as though my heart was breaking into a million pieces? I didn't understand but that's what it felt like. I was sad when I should have been happy…..my nappy was warm and comforting, my lips sweet with milk and unable to stop crying…..I felt so incredibly small…..many times in my life I had wished there was someone…..anyone…..to hold me and accept me as I was, nastiness and all. But this was first time that that someone had a face. And that face was John.

And it unnerved me…..I had always wanted someone to care for me but I'd always been resigned to believe that it wouldn't happen. Wanting it to happen, and, more specifically wanting it to be someone I knew wouldn't end well…I knew that it could only end in pining and sadness and yet I couldn't do it. From that moment I spent more and more time dreaming of John as my caregiver.

This revelation only made me cry harder; I was lost in these thoughts when I heard a loud knock on the door. I had only the time it took to duck under the covers and hide my bottle before John barged into my room.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?" John asked, his face showing concern. I couldn't understand why John seemed to care so much when only twenty minutes ago he was yelling at me.

"Of course I am….why….why do you ask? Why are you just barging into my room like this?" I asked, anger taking over and trying to cover my sadness

It wasn't until I saw the embarrassment on John's face as he looked at me and then away that I understood; despite my care to be quiet, John had heard me crying. He thought something was genuinely wrong with me. There was, of course, but at that time I thought I was overreacting and was overly embarrassed.

"I thought…..I thought maybe I heard something in here" John said, obviously flustered. It was obvious that he could tell I'd been crying but just as obvious he could tell I didn't want it to be known I'd been crying. John amazed me then and he still does with how he picks up on others' emotions like that.

I, of course was so embarrassed I became hateful and nasty. I was very aware of the fact I was in nothing but a nappy under my covers and John was so near he easily could have pulled the covers back and seen if he had wanted to. "You heard wrong! Get out of my room!" I shouted angrily. It hurt me and I know it hurt him; I wanted nothing more than to have John comfort me but I knew that was impossible. At least, I thought so at the time.

John's face fell. "Fine" he muttered quietly as he shuffled out of room. As soon as he left I began to cry even harder though of course this time I made sure that I was quieter.

That night I cried all night. I cried about the case though I didn't know why and I cried about John but for that I did know why. I cried because I could see John as my caregiver and knew it would never happen.

I am very happy that sometimes, very rarely, I am wrong.


End file.
